


Phantassssmal

by CGotAnAccount



Series: Slither [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ghosts, Gothic Horror Lite, Haunted Manor, M/M, Mystery, Naga Shiro, Quintessence-Sensitive Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: Everyone in the city is well aware of the reputation that Daibazaal Manor holds – more secrets and oddities behind its wrought iron fence than much of the city proper – and Keith is no exception.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Slither [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967590
Comments: 50
Kudos: 159





	Phantassssmal

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I wrote this entire monstrosity in one day at the expense of everything else in my life, and probably lost the ability to read before I got to the proof reading part... so uh... yeah.
> 
> This was supposed to be maaaaaaybe 2k of an entirely different prompt.
> 
> Oops!

Everyone in the city is well aware of the reputation that Daibazaal Manor holds – more secrets and oddities behind its wrought iron fence than much of the city proper – and Keith is no exception.

But the toil down at the docks is reeking and dangerous, and he wouldn't be caught dead rouged up with the gaunt-cheeked boys down in the harlots' district... so when the call goes out that Lord Zarkon is looking for a few new servants to staff his halls Keith jumps at the chance.

After all, how many back alley ghost stories actually end up bearing fruit in the light of day? Surely he can handle dusting a dreary mansion at the behest of a crazy old man, and it doesn't hurt that the pay is far better than he could get anywhere else.

So he joins the line with dozens of other young men eager to please and earn their place away from the coal smudged skies that threaten to break open upon them at any minute. Half of them are a bit too pretty for comfort, making Keith's skin prickle in unease at what exactly his duties might entail – but a few of the rest are flinty-eyed and strong-limbed, creatures of the streets not unlike himself. The line dwindles rapidly as the steward of the estate descends from the steps, flicking his fingers in dismissal at some of the hopefuls here and there as he gives them all a cursory glance.

Keith blows out the breath he didn't know he was holding when the massive man passes over him without incident, dismissing the skinny boy behind him as he moves down the line. None of the remaining men so much as shuffle out of place as the steward returns to the steps of the manor, one eye trained toward the dismally grey clouds above them.

“The rest of you, inside.” It's not a request – and not one Keith would refuse either way judging by the few fat drops of sizzling rain beginning to spatter the cobblestones at their feet.

They plod up the steps, still in a line even as the sky begins to truly break open, the boys late to join the line shivering by the time they all make it into the gloomy halls. But not Keith... he's been waiting since early morning as the instructions had said, and remains blessedly dry as the doors close behind them.

Despite the ample stained glass windows and sconces full of flickering lanterns, the manor feels reminiscent of a gilded tomb. Apparently even wealth doesn't clear away the perpetual gloom that lingers over the city – not that Keith minds it too much, a few months spent digging graves for plague victims for paltry copper had cured him of any lingering fears that might have been set squirming within him before.

The same cannot be said for all of his companions. The shivering, pretty lads are quickly swept to one side as the group is split in half – leaving the hardened workers to the other. The steward pauses when he gets to Keith, eyeing him up and down in a way that makes his skin begin to crawl and lends him suspicions of where the other boys are headed.

“And you, lad?” He questions, not quite mocking as he takes stock of Keith's strong hands and pretty face. “What will you be offering?”

Keith feels his lips purse, and wills himself not to ruin his chances before they even come to fruition.

“I know my letters, sir.” He inclines his head politely, knowing the perception of a challenge will get him nowhere. “I can read and write, or work wherever is needed. I've trained with a smithy and the apothecaries in the city. Honest work is my preference, sir.”

“It's all honest work in the end,” the steward replies softly, but nods at him all the same and gestures for him to join the men. “As you wish, with the laborers.”

“Thank you, sir.” Keith offers a half bow before striding to join the others, feeling the tension leach from his shoulders as the boys are led away down a darkened hall by another servant.

“A close call, lad,” One of the grizzled older men mutters and claps him on the shoulder. “I don't envy their fate.”

Keith shakes his head, but says no more, standing tall as the steward approaches them with a critical eye.

“The rest of you will be housed within the grounds in the servants quarters near the stables. Should you have any belongings you need to collect I suggest you do so now. Your duties will be assigned come first light tomorrow... see to it that you are present.”

A murmured wave of assent follows as the men break ranks, some heading toward the door to collect what's theirs and the others following the steward immediately toward their quarters. Keith hesitates only a moment before following as well, nothing he owns can't wait a few hours longer to be collected after all, and he's not certain he'll be able to find his way to their quarters on his own in the evening light.

The steward nods approvingly at him as he joins the tail end of the group, winding through the twists and turns in the hallways until they reach an exterior door leading into a courtyard that must have been beautiful once. Now the stone statues have fallen largely into disrepair – the acidic rain having carved notches into their faces and shoulders, lending them an air of despair. Keith tries not to look too closely at them, more intent on avoiding the thistles and stinging nettles that line the pathway toward the stables.

“Cheery place,” one of the workers mutters, and Keith can't help but silently agree.

The steward on the other hand, does not.

“If it's not to your liking, you're welcome to leave at any time.” His smile is pleasant enough, though his eyes spark in warning. “The Lord has offered you a place to stay – whether you accept his hospitality is up to you.”

There are no more comments after that as the group continues in plodding silence, but the rest of the trip is blessedly short, getting them out of the steady miserable drizzle. The servants quarters are much like the rest of the manor, crafted out of dark wood and darker upholstery – all navy, emerald, and ruby when the flicker of the lanterns carves through the gloom. It's a far cry better than anywhere he's lived before even with the cloying smell of herbs that hang from the rafters reminding him of his time with the undertakers.

“These will be your quarters for the foreseeable future,” the steward intones, sweeping an arm toward a long and branching hallway, “each of you will have a room of your own, your belongings are already waiting for you.”

Keith startles at that, glancing up from the tapestry nearest him to meet the steward's peculiar smirk, and he's not the only one.

“But the others who left-” begins one of the workers, brow wrinkled as he squints at a room already bearing his surname, “-how the dickens did you know?”

“We work quickly here.” The steward blinks at him, head cocked as he curls his hand back toward himself. “It is our hope you will do the same.” Keith wills himself not to look away as one eye swivels to turn on him, seemingly free from the influence of its partner. “You will find the door at the end of the hall leads you directly back to the main manor house.”

“Then why did we have to go through the rain?” The grumble is quiet but audible, and the sudden frisson in the air is palpable as that eye leaves him to pin the complainer like a moth to a cork board.

“Separating wheat from chaff is a laborious process,” the steward replies, a cold smile creeping across his face. “Any good worker knows that.” Keith ducks his head in a bow, deftly avoid the eye as it sweeps back over the rest of them. “Now... you are dismissed for the rest of the evening.”

A collectively held breath leaves the groups as the steward turns, cloak billowing as he strides down the hallway and disappears through the door at the end. Several man stand shaking their heads, grumbles inaudible but keenly felt as they roll the tension from their limbs. Keith does not join them – filled with the creeping unease of a man still being watched. Instead he wanders down the hallway until he finds his name on a brass plaque mounted on a door. A simple push and it sways open, revealing his belongings neatly piled on the bed. Nothing appears to be missing – not the innocuous cloth bundle hiding the dagger from his mother or even a single coin from his uncomfortably light purse. The changes of clothes folded on the desk are new though – far nicer than the patchwork breeches and thin tunic he'd left on the floor of his room in the boarding house... not that he'll be needing them now either way.

No... judging by the looks of it, he's not going to be given any particularly physical tasks to complete during his time here. The dark leather boots are made more for comfort than durability, and the doeskin breeches are far too supple to waste on digging trenches. Even the embroidery on the belted red tunic looks like it would cost more to replace than Keith could hope to earn in a lifetime... but none of it is reminiscent of the silken scraps he's seen adorning high society courtesans, and for that he thanks his lucky stars.

Unwilling to draw the ire of his new employer, he places the clothing in the dresser provided and resigns himself to the bare minimum of exploration for the evening. There's a key hanging on a hook just inside his door that he grabs without much thought, locking his room on the way out before tucking the key around his neck and sparing a glance down each side of the hall. The other men appear to be more than a little concerned about the acquisition of their belongings, but Keith has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he spirits himself away before any of their malcontent can be ascribed to him.

The door at the end of the hall chimes faintly when he pushes it open, the work of a set of small silver bells hanging near the top... likely to keep tabs on the servants, but equally useful for knowing the comings and goings from the inside if need be. The hall on the other side is much the same as the one he came from, thick runners to muffle the footfalls of servants flitting about and wall sconces casting flickering shadows across the tapestry covered walls. There's no telling where either end of it may lead, so he picks on a hunch, trying to remember from which general direction their walk through the courtyard had brought them.

Unfortunately, direction has never been his strong suit, and he finds himself at more than one dead end – hampered by doors he dare not open without explicit instruction for fear of being accused of snooping on his very first evening. He's fairly certain that he's passed the door to the servants' quarters at least three times, but even that's a guess at best. The dim grey light through the windows begins to fade into violet, and Keith's hopes of supper dwindle with it.

“Are you lost?”

The words startle a flinch out of him, and he whirls around to find a thin, birdlike servant watching him curiously. He weighs his options as the servant looks him over, glancing behind himself at the corridor identical to all the others before looking back to them with a sigh.

“I suppose I am. It's my first night here... I was looking for the kitchens.”

“Ah.” The servant inclines their head, gesturing for Keith to follow. “They never do give the new crop much instruction.”

Keith isn't sure what to make of the words, so he opts for silence, trailing gratefully behind as the servant leads him through more winding corridors with a sure step. Soon enough he finds that he can hear the clattering of plates and muted laughter over a crackling fire, and the elegant halls melt into sturdy brick.

“Here you are.” The servant turns unblinking eyes on him with a kind enough smile. “To return to your side of the servants' quarters you should follow the red tapestries. The blue will lead you... elsewhere.”

“Oh, thanks.” Keith blinks up at them, offering a hand out to shake. “I'm uh, Keith... I appreciate the help.”

The servant inclines their head, but doesn't move to take his hand before gliding a step back. “Good luck, Keith.”

And then they're gone, whisked away like they had never been there to begin with, leaving Keith to stand shivering on the precipice of the kitchens.

“Well then...” he mutters to himself, shaking away the cobwebs that have apparently taken over his senses. “At least I'll have supper.”

The kitchens are bright when he steps inside, boots echoing off the tile and drawing the attention of half a dozen chattering voices.

“Ah, there's the lad!” One of the other laborers raises a hand to greet him through a mouthful of bread. “We thought you might've fallen asleep early.”

Keith shakes his head and makes his way over to the table, gratefully accepting a plate from a small serving girl with a nod of thanks. “No, I managed to get lost on the way here... how did you all find it?”

An older man cocks an eyebrow at him and jerks his thumb over his shoulder to a door on the far side. “It's the next entry in the courtyard when you leave our quarters... can't be missed.”

“Ah.” Keith hunches in on himself, feeling a bit foolish as he picks apart his bread. “I left the other side, into the manor.”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you... haven't you heard the tales of the lost souls in this place?”

“No?” Keith glances up from his plate, brow furrowed as he stuffs bread in his mouth with a shrug. “I just needed work.”

“Tch.” The man shakes his head and levels Keith with a hard look. “There's stories about this place, lad... they go through servants faster than firewood here.” He pulls out a pipe and lights it, glancing up with intent. “Don't go wandering, you might not come out.”

“O-oh...” The bread goes down hard as Keith swallows, and he reaches for a mug of water with less than steady hands. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Ach, don't scare the kid with ghost stories.” A barrel-chested man settles himself heavily onto the bench beside Keith, making him startle enough to slosh the mug onto his plate. “Half a' those servants ran from hard work in their first week... he looks scrappy enough.”

The first man shrugs, flicking out his match as he takes a puff on the pipe. “Suit yourself.”

The rest of Keith's meal is ash in his mouth, even as he takes his fill on more meat and bread than he's seen in weeks. He makes a point to file out with the rest of them into the courtyard when it's time to return to their quarters – sure enough the next door over lets them right back inside their own hallway, though he can't quite recall seeing it on the way in this morning.

A quick count on the way to his door draws him up short... he swears there had been one more door at the end of the hallway, where the complaining man had been lodged, but now there hangs only a blue tapestry against the wall. He blinks again, raising a hand to rub the day's exhaustion from his eyes, but it's still there, as if it always had been... and perhaps it had?

He sighs and unlocks his door, stepping inside to find his room just as he had left it, and locks it firmly behind him again. The day's clothes end up on the back of the chair until he finds out how he's to do his washing, and he slides on a long tunic tucked inside the drawer, one that appears to be for sleeping, before tucking his knife under the pillow and climbing into bed. He should probably be more disconcerted about how they've gotten his sizes correct down to his undergarments, but the featherbed is more comfortable than anything he's slept on before and it's not long until he's being dragged into slumber as if he'd been spelled.

* * *

Discordant chiming from the hallways startles him from his foggy dreams the next morning.

“Servants, prepare to assemble for the day,” a voice bellows on the other side of the door as Keith rubs the dregs of sleep away. “Those not ready will find themselves quite dismayed, I assure you.”

The threat isn't explicit, but Keith feels it all the same as he scrambles to shuck his sleepwear and give himself a cursory scrubbing in the attached chamber. He dons the supplied outfit from the day before, cheeks rubbed red as his tunic as he hurriedly cinches the belt at his waist and tries his best to flatten his hair into something decent. His mother's dagger gets tucked into the back of his breeches, neatly hidden by the back of the long tunic. By the time he's stepping out of his room the rest of the men are staggering from their own, giving him hope that he hasn't raised anyone's ire with his tardiness.

He locks the door and tucks his key away, turning swiftly to line up against the wall with the other men – though it soon becomes apparent that he will not likely be staying with them much longer. Various shades of grey, brown, and black drape the other servants, setting him apart like a cardinal among sparrows as they gather at the steward's behest.

Keith tries his best not to think too much into it, but he can feel the stares prickling against his neck as they're inspected.

“I see you've all proven capable of following basic instructions,” the steward greets them with the mildest of approvals. “You'll be allowed to gather in the kitchens to retrieve your morning meal. There you will also find your handler for the day... consider them your master as you would the Lord Zarkon himself.” The freely floating eye sweeps over them all before blinking back to a forward position as the steward nods at them. “You are dismissed.”

Keith makes to shuffle out with the rest of them, only to be caught by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Not you, Mister Kogane,” the steward clips out, applying just enough pressure to turn Keith back toward the inner door. “Your rations are waiting for you with your assignment... you'll be assisting the Keepers.”

Keith risks a glance back toward the other men – one of whom, the pipe smoker from last night, is staring at him with a pitying expression as he shuffles away. Apparently he was correct in his assumption that his ditch digging days have come to an end.

“Alright.” He squares his shoulders and looks back up at the steward, nodding his head. “Lead the way, sir?”

He probably imagines the flash of approval in his eyes as the steward sweeps them down the hall and out the door, into the winding corridors that got Keith so turned around the evening prior. Their footsteps are hardly whispers on the plush carpet as they descend into the depths of the manor where the high cathedral windows barely shed a glimmer to guide them, leaving them at the mercy of the flickering lanterns that line the walls. Keith can't help but notice the various tapestries as he walks, taking care to pick out the colors of each as they twist and turn through the hallways and up and down the stairs seemingly at random. They appear to be following a route decorated with more green than anything else, and he files it away for reference should he find himself alone for the trip tomorrow.

Soon enough their steps halt in front of a massive set of oaken doors inlaid with silver and pearl in what appears to be a spray of constellations.

“You'll be working here, in the conservatory.” The steward nods to the doors before stepping away. “Ulaz will be your master while you are here. See to it that you follow his instructions precisely.”

Keith nods at the words, bracing a hand against the door as the steward sweeps back down the hall and out of sight, leaving him alone. It takes a good heave to budge them, forcing him to lean his weight against the silver handles as it creaks open. Inside, the room flares into a brilliance that makes him squint, now used to the gloom of the halls and the city beyond – but there's none of that here. A soaring glass ceiling lined in silver and iron arches lets light pour in – far brighter than he could swear he's ever seen the sky outside. Of course, it appears to be necessary to keep all the foliage within alive.

Rows and rows of gleaming pots fill the large room, creating concentric circles of greenery surrounding a center dais covered in desks. Parchment paper, books, and laboratory equipment are strewn across them, the apparent disarray at odds with the rest of the room.

And then there's the cages.

Each wall save for the one he'd entered through is lined with cages housing creatures Keith couldn't name if pressed. Some are simply wrought iron, others gilded silver, and still others are solid glass embedded with jewels along their frames. It's more condensed wealth than he's ever seen, and sight of it all shocks him into hesitancy.

“Ah, you must be the new assistant.” A voice echoes from across the room as a thin man emerges from a group of potted plants, shears in hand and ink stains spotting his cuffs. “Welcome to the conservatory, my name is Ulaz.”

“Keith,” he supplies in return, taking a few wary steps in to offer his hand to the other man, who gives it a firm shake. “I think you're my master?”

“You are correct.” Ulaz nods at him before gesturing toward the desks. “Most of our time will be spent in here with the plants. The other... Keepers... will be in and out, do not trouble yourself with them.”

“Alright.” Keith wipes his sweaty hands down his trousers and follows Ulaz up onto the dais where the view of the room is even grander – the various plants and statues arranged maze-like to mimic the star charts he'd once seen working at the shipyard. “What would you have me do here?”

“A little of everything, mostly... you can read and write I assume?”

Keith nods, glancing down at the scrolls, half of which appear to be written entirely in symbols he has no hope of parsing meaning from. “I know my letters well enough.”

“And you must be able to be discreet, I suppose they told you that?”

Keith nods again, he'd figured as much from the job post. “I've worked with the apothecaries and the undertakers during the illness... I've seen... things.”

“Aaah.” Ulaz assesses him with renewed interest, and a hint of surprise. “I suppose that's why you've been sent to me then.” He sighs deeply, then leans in close enough to whisper under the guise of straitening Keith's collar. “Do precisely as I say and no harm will come to you, do you understand?”

Keith nods, swallowing hard even as his pulse kicks up to a gallop. “Yes sir, apologies for my disheveled appearance.”

It earns him the shadow of a smile as Ulaz pulls his hands away with a gentle squeeze. “You'll be fine, Mr. Kogane... but I've forgotten myself!” He shakes his head and sets the shears on the table, moving around it to rummage underneath. “You haven't had your rations yet have you?”

“No, sir.” Though he's not quite certain he's still hungry at this point. “They mentioned I might find it here.”

“And you shall,” Ulaz assures him, hefting a tray with toast and porridge onto the desk, seemingly out of nowhere. “I can't have my assistant going faint with hunger when there's work to be done.”

“Thank you, sir.” Keith takes the offered meal, chewing thoughtfully as Ulaz begins to explain their day-to-day tasks – mostly the documentation and supervision of the life in the room, with a little messenger work for the other Keepers on the side. It's nothing too strenuous, though it does leave Keith a bit curious as to where the others are.

He doesn't have to wait long to find out – nearly spilling his tea when a figure, masked and robed, appears as if by magic from a winding staircase hidden in the far alcove of the room. Now that Keith's looking for it, he can see where the light from the ceiling falls short, masking the entrance to what he would think is a cistern that must exist below them – perhaps supplying the water for all the various life in the manor.

“Ulaz,” the figure hisses in greeting as it passes by, gliding in near silence across the floor until it comes to the largest glass tank. “I see you have another.”

“Macidus.” Ulaz inclines his head toward the newcomer, posture drawing stiffly upright. “I do.”

“Hmm.” The graveled rasp has the hairs on the back of Keith's neck rising as the mask turns toward him, though he can't exactly explain why. “Red this time.”

Ulaz shrugs, reaching to pour more tea into Keith's cup, as if already bored of the conversation. “You know I'm not one for fashion.”

There's a derisive click from behind the mask before Macidus is turning back to the tank, hands pressing flat to glass as he mutters low. Ulaz continues to pay him little mind, keeping his eyes locked firmly on Keith's in what feels like a warning to do the same.

“Well, Keith,” he sighs, shuffling the parchment in from of them and drawing out a fresh quill pen and ink pot. “Now that we've fed you, we can move onto the more mundane... there's inventory to be done today.”

Keith nods, not taking his eyes off Ulaz as he's handed the pen and fresh teacup. “As you say, sir.”

Neither of them make to get up until Macidus finishes his muttering, stepping away from the glass with a shudder and whisking himself back down below without another word. At his departure the tension seems to drain from Keith's new master.

“You'll want to drink that, lad... as much as you can stand.”

Keith glances at his cup, noticing for the first time the strange golden motes inside, and hurriedly gulps it down. “Yes, sir... sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It's no trouble,” Ulaz assures him as he makes to rise, plucking a board off the table and passing it off to Keith to write on, “but we do have work to do, and there is much to tally in this room.”

Keith accepts the board and settles it into the crook of his elbow, dutifully following his master to a corner of the room, quill pen inked and at the ready.

“For starters, we have belladonna here in this pot... be careful not to touch it, the berries are quite noxious.” He pokes around the bush with a thin silver rod, humming as he goes. “Mark down three plants, please.”

Keith does as he's told, taking meticulously neat notes of each item and its quantity as Ulaz points them out to him, doing his best to familiarize himself with the various stock that will be under his care. Soon enough they're moving on toward the cages where Ulaz points out all the fantastic creatures Keith had once thought to be mere myth.

“That mirrored cage there,” Ulaz guides his attention quietly, “is the basilisk.” Keith balks at that, feet dragging even as Ulaz continues heading toward it. “Don't worry, it's the mirrored finish that will keep you safe – it can't gaze outward without paralyzing itself.”

Reluctantly, Keith shuffles closer, shuddering even just catching a glance at the massive scaled beast inside. Its eyes seem to radiate pure hate, even as it stares blankly at the side wall, careful not to look at them directly.

“Is there just the one?” he croaks out, steadying his hand as he scratches down the name of the creature.

“For now,” Ulaz replies, lips pressed into a thin line. “Though new creatures often appear without warning... which is why we must do inventory consistently, and when the others are not present.”

Keith nods his understanding and scurries onward to the next cage – the one Macidus had been tending to. Ulaz's steps falter beside him.

“Ah... this one.” He heaves a soft sigh, close enough to pity to give Keith pause. “This is our resident naga.”

Keith peers into the damp jungle inside the cage, not seeing much of anything that might be a creature – though he can't say he's entirely certain what a naga is even as he scratches the word down. “Is it... too small to see?”

“Hardly.” Ulaz shakes his head and comes to stand behind Keith, bending enough to level a finger for Keith to track his vision along. “See there? Near the back, it gleams nearly white.”

Keith squints into the gloom, doing his best to follow Ulaz's direction – when a glimmer from the room behind them lights up the back of the cage in an opalescent shimmer of scales.

“ _Oh._ ”

Ulaz smiles beside him, dropping his arm from where it had hovered near the glass. “Yes, it's quite striking.”

“It's... a snake?” Keith wonders, taking a half step forward, only to be caught by a hand on his shoulder.

“Of a sort, yes.” Ulaz squeezes his shoulder, drawing him away from the glass. “There's only one in the tank... and there likely always will be. It's... temperamental.”

Keith lets himself be led back to the dais, parchment now full of the stock of the room even as the sun appears to be dipping lower through the domed ceiling. They had paused earlier for their midday meal, bread and stew that Ulaz had once again conjured as though from the air itself, but the ambiance in the room has managed to rob Keith of all sense of time. Ulaz, on the other hand, appears perfectly unperturbed – likely used to the manor's strange effects on the day's rhythm.

“What will we be doing now?” Keith asks, comfortable enough to wonder about things aloud. “Now that we have them all counted.”

Ulaz offers him a smile as he pulls out a chair for each of them. “Now we watch.” Keith settles next to him, quiet as he takes the proffered fresh scroll. “The job of the Keeper of the room is to witness, and to record.”

Keith nods, and turns his attention to the tanks and rows of pots on the side of the room closest to him, quill poised. It's less tedious work than he might have otherwise thought, especially since more than half the creatures he's watching are the likes of which most people would write him off as mad for even mentioning. He scratches down a note about the small gnome-like creature that appears to be building an effigy of a human out of mushrooms, then turns his attention to the mermaid in the glass tank that floats, listless and hopeless with the will of the current.

The sun sinks lower and lower as the hours tick onward, casting the room in a brilliant cascade of glimmering colors as it strikes the various jeweled fixtures strewn about. At one point, just as Keith feels as though he may fall asleep with the afternoon heat warming the back of his neck, a flicker of motion from the naga's enclosure draws his attention. It's hardly much at all – just a slow sliding of scales across each other, but the sun pours steadily into the cage now at the current angle, illuminating its every move.

“Ulaz,” he whispers, as if it might hear him and stop, “I think the naga is moving.”

“Mhm,” Ulaz hums his agreement, flicking a glance from his own observation of the other side. “It is about that time... it enjoys sunning itself.”

“Oh,” Keith breathes, then hushes himself in wonder as one massive coil dips from a branch Keith hadn't even realized hung from the top of the cage. It's larger than any snake he's ever heard of – certainly larger even than the constrictors on display at the circus...

And then a claw tipped hand emerges, hauling with it a very human torso that begins to lower itself from where it must have been lurking above them the entire time.

“ _Ulaz-_ ”

“I know, Keith,” Ulaz chuckles, grounding him with a hand on his shoulder even as Keith tenses as if prepared to bolt. “It startled me at first too... just watch.”

So Keith does. He watches as the naga unfurls itself entirely, lowering the massive coils until they rest in the pond below... until the terrifyingly human torso drops completely along with them, held up by straining biceps that give way to broad shoulders and a painfully human face framed by long white hair. Keith can't help the breath he sucks in and holds, quill going slack in his hands as the undoubtedly deadly creature locks intelligent reptilian eyes with him.

“Don't stare it down,” Ulaz murmurs beside him, utterly unconcerned about the most terrifying thing Keith's ever seen. “It will take it as a challenge.”

Keith drops his gaze immediately to the parchment before him, managing to take a shaky note about the sunning habits of the half-serpent... but he can't resist for long, and it's still staring at him when he risks a glance back up, this time with its chin resting on its forearms all settled on top of a gleaming opal coil. A black tongue flicks out, almost like a tease, and Keith tears his eyes away immediately – wondering only belatedly if the thing can smell his fear through the glass.

He hopes not.

Judging by the smirk on its face when his gaze skitters back it can likely tell either way.

“Alright,” Ulaz sighs, dropping his own quill pen and pushing back from his desk. “I think that's about enough for today, don't you?”

Keith nods numbly, keeping his eyes firmly away from his side of the room as his master shuffles their supplies into some semblance of order.

“Do you need help getting back to your wing, or were you supplied a map?”

Keith's brow furrows at the mention of a map, thinking it would have been quite useful last night. “Well, I don't have a map, but one of the servants told me to follow the red tapestries and I'd make it back there just fine... and the green ones seem to lead here.”

Ulaz's hands freeze in their task and he lifts his head to aim a frighteningly blank stare at Keith. “What servant was this?”

“Uhm...” Keith's face twists in consternation as he thinks about the encounter. “Kinda... birdlike? Real thin... I couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman, and they just sort of... disappeared. Definitely on the quiet side.”

“Keith.” His master's voice is hushed and dangerously calm as he continues setting the desk to rights with shaking hands. “I need to you promise me you won't tell anyone else about the servant, or the tapestries... alright?”

“Sure? I mean, no sir, I won't.”

“This is very important, Keith,” Ulaz insists, finally straightening to look at Keith, expression drawn and pale. “ _No one._ If Lady Honerva visits here you do not speak to her, and you do not mention the creatures to anyone, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Keith nods, taking a half step back away from the intensity in his master's gaze. “I won't.”

“Good boy.” His master draws in a steadying breath and straightens up, producing a map of the manor from one of his packs. “Here. Use this for now, you should be able to count the doors and find your way back.”

“Yes, sir.” Keith takes the map in hand and gives it a good look, trying to orient himself in the maze of hallways. Fortunately the conservatory is marked with a flourish of constellations spilled in silver ink across the page – though the stairway to the cistern is nowhere to be found. “Should I go to supper now?”

“You should.” Ulaz agrees, smoothing down the front of his tunic as he casts a look back toward the stairwell. “I have business to finish here, but I'll see you tomorrow morning... good night, Keith.”

“Goodnight.” Keith offers him a thin smile as he steps down from the dais and through the winding jungle of potted plants toward the gleaming door, now aglow in the evening sun. He can't help but cast one last glance at the jeweled tank to his left as he passes, only to catch a glimpse of curved fangs and flashing steely eyes before jerking his gaze away and hurrying out into the gloomy hallways once again.

The difference is stark as he's plunged into near-darkness when the door shuts behind him – the sun that had been shining through their glass ceiling apparently not offering more than the barest of tinted glimmers through the stained glass windows scattered here and there. Even the shadows cast by the lanterns seem deeper than ever, barely leaving him enough light to read by as he squints at his newly acquired map.

Not that he can make much sense of the damned thing anyway. It doesn't even seem to be up to date – there's clearly two doors missing from the servants quarters and the hallway to his left doesn't appear to be marked at all. His frustrated sigh is muffled by the oppressive atmosphere of the hallway, and he gives up all but the barest pretense of the map – holding it open enough to be plausible as he picks out the red tapestries on the wall and follows them through the twists and turns until he finds himself standing in front of a familiar wooden door with its cheerful silver bells. He spares a moment to hope whoever the servant was that helped him figure out this nonsense doesn't get in trouble for speaking to him, and sends them a mental thank you as he pushes into the servants' quarters.

There are three blue tapestries hanging on the wall, and two fewer doors than this morning.

The older pipe-smoking man appears to be just coming back from his day as well, covered in black muck and ichor as he nods a greeting at Keith.

“Good to see you in one piece, lad.”

“Thanks?” Keith cocks his head in confusion, but shrugs off the odd sentiment as he makes his way to his own room. “Have you had your supper yet?”

“Like this?” The man barks a laugh, gesturing down to his ruined outfit. “Not likely... I'll be headed that way as soon as I get clean though.”

“I'll wait for you,” Keith offers, twisting the key in his lock. “I'm just changing myself.”

The man grunts in acknowledgment and slips inside, leaving Keith to enter his own room and tug off his elaborate clothing. He leaves it hanging off his chair as he slips into the clothes he had worn to the manor yesterday. They feel scratchy in comparison, but at least they're his. His supper companion likely won't be ready for a few moments longer, so he takes his time in the washroom, cleaning off the ink stains and pollen from his arms before drying off and heading back into the main hall.

He doesn't have to wait much longer before the man returns, offering him a jerk of the head as he leads them out into the courtyard. The difference in the air that hits them is almost startling to Keith, who sucks in a lungful like he hadn't gotten a breath all day.

“Wow,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his head, “it must be stuffy in there... I hadn't really noticed.”

The man grunts and casts a baleful look back at the door before ushering Keith ahead of him. “It's not that it's stuffy,” he grunts under his breath as they stride across the cobblestone. “The damn place is haunted.”

“Is it?” Keith wonders aloud, frowning at the man's back. “Is that why people keep leaving?”

The line of the man's shoulders tense ahead of him, and for the second time that day someone is whirling on Keith with a frightful look. “Son, if you know what's good for you, you won't mention them, alright?”

“Y-yeah, sure.” Keith edges back a step, palms raised in placation. “I didn't mean anything by it.”

“I know you didn't.” He shakes his head, scrubbing a hand down his weathered face. “Look, lad... it's painfully obvious you're not aware of what's going on here and it's saving your hide... if you're going to keep it that way you need to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.”

“Yes, sir Mr... ah-” Keith hesitates, realizing all at once he doesn't actually know the man before him from any of the others, not really.

“Kolivan,” the man sighs, looking wearier than ever as he turns back to continue toward the kitchens. “Just call me Kolivan.”

Keith nods at his back, hurrying after him to the relative warmth of the table-lined hall, plunking himself down at the end near a brick oven crackling merrily away. For the second day in a row the food tastes like nothing much at all, despite being the same meat and bread he would have killed for last week. He chalks it up to the strangeness of new work, the anxiety of a new place not yet abated. Of course, it's only compounded as he thinks back on the oddities of the day, of the serpentine eyes staring him down and the suffocating atmosphere... but at least he's warm, fed, and clothed at the end of the day, and that's more than he can say about most of his life up until this point.

He rips off another hunk and chews it down, studiously avoiding the eyes of the men around him. They look worn down to the bone, likely having done the same sort of hard labor Kolivan had obviously come back from... and here he is dining with them after a day of note taking. The thought sours his stomach even further, wondering if they see him as one of the waifs that disappeared into the other wing – a favored pet.

He doesn't linger much after that, mumbling his excuses to the room at large before slipping back out the door, trotting through the misting rain toward the safety of his own room.

A fresh set of red garments greets him from the desk when he arrives, neatly folded. The others are nowhere to be found.

* * *

The days fly by much the same, blurring into weeks as Keith slowly but surely picks up on the rhythms of the manor.

There are three more blue tapestries in their hallway that no one else seems to acknowledge, one for each of the now six fewer men than when they started. Keith sees the servant around occasionally, but only when he's taken a wrong turn or two... and he's begun to wonder if they're some sort of guide, not meant to talk to him, but well meaning enough to save him from his own lack of sense.

He appreciates them either way, even if they rarely offer him more than a smile.

Admittedly, he appreciates Ulaz significantly more. His master appears to have taken it upon himself to keep Keith out of some task that he's brushed off as 'too dull for a young lad', but Keith has his suspicions that there's more to it than that after he comes back gaunt and drawn from his trips to the cistern. It doesn't help that Macidus has been around more often of late, agitating the naga each time he arrives, even if his business is in another tank.

The creatures all seem to shy away from him when he turns his masked interest upon them – even the listless mermaid flashes fangs and flares its fins in warning as he approaches. Apparently he's not there to feed them in the evenings, as Keith had first assumed. In fact, he's not really sure how the creatures are being fed – only that none have yet starved to death under his watch... which isn't particularly reassuring.

But Ulaz continues on each day, as placid as can be as they redo the inventory for the ever-shifting maze of potted plants surrounding their dais. Sometimes when he looks down upon it Keith can make out familiar constellations in their positioning, but usually it's all a mess of greenery blurring together into a haze until it's time to pick them apart for counting.

He's gotten better at that part too – identifying plants on his own now as Ulaz trails behind him, humming in approval or gently correcting his appraisals of each. It's a small comfort on the more bizarre days that he'll at least have that knowledge to take with him should he ever leave here. Though sometimes he wonders if he'll be allowed to, after all that he's seen in this room... but he was hired for his discretion.

For now though, he's content to stay put, growing used to a steady wage and a soft bed... a clean set of clothes ready for him each day and a full belly to top it off. There's far worse things he could be doing for far less reward. And if he leaves now the reptilian eyes in that cage will likely haunt him for the rest of his life – especially now that he's seen them from closer than the distance of the dais during their observations... the naga has taken to uncoiling himself when they begin doing their walk around the conservatory, pressing himself near enough to the glass when Keith walks by that he could reach out and touch him without the shimmery barrier.

But the glass barrier is there, and there for a reason, as Ulaz keeps helpfully reminding him.

“It's a reptile, Keith,” His master sighs for the hundredth time as Keith flicks a glance from his teacup toward the tank where the naga is watching them. “It's curious about the bite-sized creature in its lair.”

Keith would like to protest that he's not bite-sized... but truly he can't be sure. The naga _is_ awfully large.

“He looks lonely,” Keith muses, sipping his gold-flecked tea. “Doesn't he?”

“ _It_ looks like a snake with a human face,” Ulaz corrects him gently. “You must be careful not to empathize too closely with any of the creatures here... they're not like us, not anymore.”

“Anymore?” Keith turns to look at his master, brow furrowed at the strange turn of phrase, but Ulaz has gone abruptly pale. “Ulaz?”

“My Lord and Lady, welcome!” Ulaz calls across the room as the doors creak open, held by two servants that look eerily akin to Keith's mysterious friend. “How may we be at your service today?”

“At ease, Ulaz.” Lord Zarkon's booming voice echoes through the hall, shivering through Keith's bones. He has yet to meet the Lord of the manor, though he has heard of his comings and going from the other men still left. “The Lady would merely like to tour the menagerie.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Ulaz bows deeply, prompting Keith to do the same. “Please, let us know if there's anything we may do for you.”

The Lord nods his dismissal, and Ulaz sinks back to the desk, eyes wide as he pours more tea into Keith's saucer and pushes it into his hands, mouthing ' _drink_.'

Keith does, quickly. He keeps his eyes fixed to the parchment in front of him and begins to carefully copy over the rows of his previous inventory simply for the sake of keeping his hands busy. Ulaz nods his approval, though he keeps his eyes on the Lord and Lady as they make their way through the conservatory.

Lady Honerva draws them to a halt in front of the naga, raising frail looking fingers to tap at the glass.

“Hello, my pet.” Her voice is a croon like dead leaves skittering across cobblestones. “I see you are well.”

Keith glances up from his work to catch sight of the naga raising itself high in the cage, reaching out to rest tapered claws against the hand on the other side. His eyes are slitted things that glint yellow, and for the first time Keith doesn't questions Ulaz's insistence on referring to him as a snake. The black tongue flicks out, seemingly in answer as he cocks his head to the side and regards her.

“Soon enough, Kuro.” She tilts her head enough for Keith to catch the edge of an icy smirk – one mirrored by her pet. “Be patient... you did always say...”

Apparently, the patience of a snake wears thin, because Kuro lunges in a flash – striking the glass so hard it rattles the dais. Keith flinches away from his desk, certain he's about to witness a bloodbath, but the Lady of the manor only cackles and taps at the entirely unblemished glass.

“Ohoho... you don't like that one, do you?” She drums her fingers, smile growing by a few more teeth. “No, you don't like to remember...”

Keith ducks his head back down, unable to handle the seething hatred in those eyes even from a distance. His hands tremble as he scratches out the next few lines... the moonberries... the yarrow... the rosemary...

Ulaz doesn't so much as twitch beside him, waiting placidly as the Lord and Lady move on from the tank of the naga and continue their perusal.

“The conservatory seems to be in good hands as always, Ulaz,” Zarkon rumbles his approval as they approach the Keeper and his apprentice, Ulaz rising to meet them in a bow and tugging Keith with him.

“Thank you, my Lord... we do try our best.”

“Yes, it is _we_ now isn't it.” Zarkon's attention shifts to Keith in a glance that feels like a brand, forcing his eyes down to his own feet in deference. “How do you like this one?”

“The best yet,” Ulaz assures him, placing a reassuring hand on Keith's shoulder. “I couldn't ask for a better assistant.”

“I am glad to hear it... good help is so difficult to keep around here.” The words are dry, almost as if they were meant to be a joke between them as the Lady huffs a small laugh of her own. But the idle comment draws her interest to Keith as well.

“Where did we find this one?” She lifts her hands to pull her hood back, but Keith keeps his gaze fixed on the stonework beneath his feet. “Does he have any... affinities?”

“No,” Ulaz clips out, grip tightening just a fraction. “But he can read and write, and he's a quick learner with our plants... thank you for letting me keep him here.”

“Ah, is the bar so low these days...” She sighs, shaking her head in disgust. “Boy, do you have a favorite creature here?” Icy panic spears Keith in the heart as he recalls Ulaz's instructions, and he shakes his head. The Lady huffs in annoyance. “Is he mute?”

“Just shy before his betters,” Ulaz assures her, before turning to Keith. “Keith... which is your favorite _critter_ here?”

Keith pauses, parsing the words before whispering to his boots, “I like the cat, in the kitchens... but she can't come in here 'cause the plants will make her sick.”

“Very good Keith, that's right.” Ulaz claps him on the shoulder with a strained smile. “That's why she must stay down by the kitchens.”

Zarkon rumbles a laugh that rattles the ink wells on the desks. “The boy likes the cats, of course... the only creature he's seen here then?”

“Of course,” Ulaz replies, meeting his gaze steadily. “What other creatures are there?”

“What other creatures indeed?” Lady Honerva sighs before turning to her husband. “I believe we're done here, darling.”

“As you wish, dear.”

Ulaz pulls Keith into another deep bow, holding it until the great oaken doors close behind them, before he turns and pulls Keith into an embrace. “Oh you quick, dear little thing,” he mutters into his hair, shocking Keith into stillness. “Bless you.”

“Ulaz... am I... not supposed to see them?”

“No, Keith.”

“Then... why am I taking notes about them?” A hint of panic bleeds into Keith's voice as he glances at the parchment with his handwriting all over it, evidence of whatever he's meant to be hiding. “Won't she see?”

“No, Keith... she won't. Drink your tea.”

Keith does as he's told, finishing another cup with shaking hands.

“Ulaz... I don't understand.”

“I know, Keith.” He sighs and offers an apologetic glance. “I'm sorry.”

Keith continues to stare at his scattered parchment in stunned silence, eventually lifting his eyes to meet the curious slitted stare in the tank. “I can't ever leave here, can I?”

Ulaz sighs again, placing his quill pen down between them onto the pile of paper.

“No, Keith.”

* * *

He takes more care to pay attention after that, unwilling to slip up and become another blue tapestry spirited away into nothingness. Whenever he can manage it he still spends his supper with Kolivan, though there aren't many of the other men left to join them anymore... and on the days new tapestries appear Keith always seems to have to wait for Kolivan to clean off the clinging black ichor.

He tries not to think too deeply about it, unwilling to delve into whatever horrors lie behind the weathered and weary face of his friend.

Especially since his other friend may not be particularly, well... alive. He begins to wonder when he seeks them out, taking several intentional wrong turns on the way to his quarters at the end of the day. They find him, of course... but so does the steward with his eye that roams straight over Keith to pin them with a chilly glare.

“Aren't you supposed to be heading toward the kitchens?”

“Yes sir, I'm sorry, I got a bit turned around.” He holds out his well-worn map, pointing to a hallway that isn't actually there. “I meant to turn here, but I couldn't seem to find it... and when I doubled back...”

“Useless things,” the steward scoffs, pushing the map back into Keith's chest. “I've told them to mark the halls, lest we lose another dozen of you lot to the depths of this place...”

The words send a shiver down Keith's spine, and he very carefully lets his gaze drift past the steward to where his friend offers the hint of a playful shrug, nodding along with him. Keith doesn't even twitch in response.

“Sorry sir... would you mind pointing me in the right direction?”

He gets hauled back to the kitchens on a winding route that's far more circuitous than had they just followed the red tapestries, which makes him wonder what exactly that eye can and cannot see.

“I thought for sure you'd have been one of the plague-touched, lad,” the steward grumbles as he delivers him to the servants' quarters entrance. “Would've been far less work for me.”

“Plagued-touched, sir?” Keith asks, the picture of innocence as he stares up at his jailer. “The apothecaries said there were no survivors among the infected.”

“I bet they did.” He snorts, shaking his head in disgust. “Never you mind... get to supper.”

“Yes, sir.”

Keith scurries down the hall, heart pounding in his throat as he practically slams into Kolivan who waits by his door.

“Where's the fire, lad?” Kolivan asks as he steadies him by the shoulders. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Keith shoots him a flat look before snatching his wrist and dragging them both out into the courtyard. “That's not funny, you know.. not anymore!”

Kolivan only barks a laugh in response, his whole face crinkling in a grin as Keith scowls at him. “Did you figure it all out then yet?”

“I don't know,” Keith huffs, wiping his sweaty hands on his tunic. “But whatever it _is_ , you and Ulaz are in it together, aren't you?”

Kolivan stops chuckling then, leaning down to pin Keith with a withering stare. “Be careful what you're saying, lad... people can get into a world of hurt around here with that kind of talk.”

Keith swallows hard, resisting the urge to take a step back. “I, I only meant that... you had my scroll in your bag. I saw it... not the one about plants.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't.” Kolivan shrugs at him, lifting a shrewd eyebrow. “Those scrolls do tend to look awfully similar, don't they?”

“They do,” Keith concedes, shuffling his feet but remaining unbowed, “you leave the manor each day, don't you?”

“I might.”

“Well, okay.” Keith sighs at him, pulling what strands together that he can before nodding toward the kitchen doors. “I'm hungry, aren't you?”

“You're something, lad,” Kolivan sighs back, but follows all the same.

* * *

It's easier to figure out what to avoid after he's figure out what he's not meant to be seeing. Though it's much harder to avoid seeing a giant half-serpent that so clearly wants to be seen.

“It's preening again,” Ulaz chuckles quietly, causing Keith to pause his scratching about plants and lift his gaze to the naga's cage. “Showy thing.”

And he's right. The naga _is_ showy... intentionally flexing well-formed muscles and writhing in the pool of water, tongue flicking as he runs his clawed fingers down his body.

“What is he doing?” Keith murmurs back, only sparing the occasional glance at the cage.

“It's mating season,” Ulaz responds, like that means anything at all to Keith.

But then, of course, it does mean something because the naga has brought his hands low, teasing at the strangely elongated slit just below where skin melts into scales. His back arches on a hissed gasp that Keith feels in his bones, despite not being able to hear it through the glass, and two long, writhing _things_ slide out of the slit and wrap around a clawed fist.

“Is that-” Keith chokes out, cheeks flaring red as he yanks his gaze back to the parchment.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Ulaz sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache. “It never did this with the other assistants.”

Keith doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't, instead choosing to ignore the writhing mass of muscle and his own growing arousal.

Of course, Ulaz chooses that moment to escape into his duties in the cistern, instructing Keith to inventory the garden with a parting grin.

“Bastard,” Keith grumbles under his breath as he gathers the board and quill with a blush.

He takes his time, starting on the other side of the maze of pots and working his way back toward the cage, willing himself not to steal glances at where the naga is thoroughly enjoying his own fist, two clawed finger tips thrusting into the now-dripping vent. The quill pen nearly shatters in Keith's hand as he watches him buck, open mouthed and moaning behind the glass like he's putting on a show just for him.

Maybe, Keith begins to accept, it _is._

His feet carry him toward the cage without his permission, giving up all but the barest pretense of work as he sticks himself close to a pot full of sage and hastily scribbles down the quantity. When he looks up those hypnotic eyes have him rooted to the spot as they roam over his body, taking in the face that must be as red as his tunic before sliding lower with intent. Keith sets his board down, staggering over to the cage, utterly entranced by the glimmering mass of writhing muscle and scales. He wonders if the tank allows for the passage of pheromones in the air – and if he could blame them for the incandescent need flooding his system as one clawed hand beckons him near, slick and sticky with the naga's own fluids.

He goes, stumbling like a man possessed, one hand pressing against himself in a futile effort to find some relief, and the other outstretched until it meets cool glass. The clawed hand presses over his own, smearing opalescent trails on the other side of the glass as he writhes himself closer to Keith. At this distance – the nearest he's ever been to the creature – he can see that his cocks are prehensile, wrapping around his wrist with a will of their own as the naga tilts his head back, long hair cascading freely into the water as his tongue flickers around gleaming fangs.

Keith thinks he might hyperventilate.

In fact, he might be well on the way to doing so when the naga – Kuro, if he recalls – twists around to press himself fully against the glass, tongue smearing slick as he ticks his nails where Keith stands stuck.

“Me?” Keith points to himself, feeling more than a little crazy as he talks to a masturbating snake.

But the snake nods back.

Not only can it hear him – it can _understand_ him, not just the witch through some sick magic.

“Holy fuck-” Keith staggers a step back in surprise, putting the full extent of his tented pants and tunic on display. “You can... oh my god.”

Kuro bears his teeth in a desperate snarl, pressing his hips up against the glass and rutting as his claws scrabble against the unyielding surface – one hand still tapping insistently at Keith.

“You uhm... you want me to... uh... too?” Keith plucks at his tunic in surprise and embarrassment as Kuro nods inside the cage. “I guess I can, um...” He risks a glance around before undoing his laces and drawing himself out of his breeches.

He can practically hear the pleased hiss as it rattles inside the cage, delight obvious in the motion of Kuro's body as his eyes slit further, locking onto where Keith slowly strokes himself.

“Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this-” Keith giggles hysterically to himself, distantly realizing he's a dead man if he gets caught, but too far gone to stop at this point. His hand flies over his length, the movement becoming rapidly slicker as he nears an embarrassingly quick finish, but the naga doesn't seem to mind. His breath leaves the barest hint of a fog on the other side of the glass as he pants against it, but Keith is far more enraptured by the throbbing smear of the two cocks wriggling lower. He's half out of his mind as he stumbles the last step between them, pressing his cock against the glass where they meet – and promptly spilling straight onto it at the sight.

The naga isn't far behind, his pupils blowing round for the barest of seconds before both cocks are pulsing, drooling over his fist and smearing against the glass where Keith's own release has spattered. He's gorgeous, flushing the faintest green as his spine bows in ecstasy, tail twisting itself into knots of pleasure.

Keith's struck with the sudden need to feel his coils around him, pulsing in time with those glistening cocks as he gets filled-

He's also struck with the dawning horror of his situation – half naked, disheveled, and smearing his seed on the tank of a creature he's not meant to know about.

Kuro is almost certainly laughing at him as he scrambles to tuck himself back inside and re-lace his breeches, adjusting his dagger and frantically wiping off his side of the glass with an errant piece of parchment before giving up and getting the dregs with the sleeve of his tunic.

There's not much he can do for his hair, but judging by the fanged smirk glimmering back at him from the tank, there's at least one fan of the style.

When Ulaz returns shortly thereafter it's with an air of judgment that could level the entire manor. Keith endures it with only the mildest of shame.

* * *

Pretending Kuro doesn't exist after that is nearly impossible – though judging by Ulaz and Kolivan's increasing agitation, and the total lack of pretense as his master swipes his writings on the creatures for dispatches unknown, Keith has the feeling that things are going to come to a head sooner rather than later.

He just couldn't have known how soon.

The last two other men from their quarters join the trail of blue tapestries lining the hall – a row of beacons in the gloom calling Keith to follow them into depths unknown. He resists, of course, because advice from a helpful probably-ghost friend outweighs the lure of what is most likely the work of the other Keepers any day. And because he's sure as hell not going near that cistern after hearing the shrieks coming from it the day prior. He's beginning to have sneaking suspicions about where the other servants have ended up, despite not quite having the stomach to ask Kolivan about it directly.

In the end, he doesn't need to.

Perhaps it's set in motion by the simple action of asking Ulaz the question that's been weighing on his mind... but maybe it had been coming long before. Either way, he thinks little of it when he casts a furtive glance around their empty conservatory and whispers into Ulaz's ear.

“What's me being plague-touched got to do with all this?”

Ulaz startles so badly the pot of tea goes spilling, and Keith leaps to his feet with a curse as he races to mop it up before it can smear the ink on their parchment. In all the commotion he fails to see the moment Macidus materializes beside him, holding one soggy scroll between his forefinger and thumb, masked face cocked as he peers as them.

“What's this then, Keeper?” The rattling hiss isn't a question so much as a taunt, aimed squarely over Keith's head and toward his master. “Is your little pet beginning to... see the light?”

“He doesn't see anything, Macidus.” Ulaz growls back, drawing Keith in toward him. “Leave the boy alone.”

“Oh, but I think he does.” Gloved fingers unfurl the parchment, revealing the smeared but still legible reports of the creatures in the cages written by Keith's hand. “Or he's got a very active imagination...”

“I just write what Ulaz describes to me,” Keith offers, hand creeping behind his back to rest on the pommel of his mother's dagger. “Just an extra set of hands, sir.”

“Don't worry, boy.” One clawed hand begins to reach toward him as the mask twists into a leer. “You'll be more spare parts than just hands soon enough-”

Keith jerks back, making to draw his blade – but Ulaz is already there, punching into the mask and ripping it aside before throwing his full cup of tea directly into the twisted face beneath it. Macidus goes down with a wretched howl, clawing and shrieking as steam pours from the molten gold blotches opening up across his face.

“Boy – _run!_ ” Ulaz shoves Keith by the shoulder, sending him stumbling toward the edge of the dais even as he rips a golden gem out of his robe with the other hand, smashing it onto the desk before hurling it at the ceiling with unnatural strength. It shatters clean through the glass, exploding in a shower of the same golden _something_ that Keith's been drinking in his tea for months now.

“Ulaz-” Keith hesitates at the edge of the first step, watching as Macidus struggles to rise, energy crackling in his fist.

“Dammit Keith, _go-_ ” Ulaz snarls at him, throwing another half full cup of tea at the advancing Keeper. “-the beacon won't bring them fast enough, you need to flee!”

Keith grits his teeth, pulls the dagger, and lunges – catching Macidus clean through back until the blade strikes the stonework on the other side, spattering the dais with oily purple gore.

“What in the seven hells-” Ulaz curses, shielding his eyes as the wound around the dagger explodes out away from the steel. “Where did you get that blade?”

Keith plants his foot on the limp back of the Keeper and pulls his dagger free with a wet, sucking sound before wiping it clean on his breeches. “It was my mother's.”

“ _Hells._ ” Ulaz snarls again, grasping Keith by the elbow and dragging him down the steps. “His mother is a Blade the whole time...”

“A what?” Keith sets his heels and his jaw, sick of being dragged around through ghosts and murder and whatever the hell else is down in that cistern. “Ulaz, what's going on? Let me _go-_ ”

“Fine,” his master spits, grabbing another glowing gold-filled orb from his sleeve before hurling it down into the cistern – setting off a series of hideous shrieks and explosions. “Lady Honerva created the plague trying to make a Komar-”

“What's a Kom-”

“ _Hush_. It steals the quintessence – the life force – from anyone within the castle walls, sapping them into nothingness.”

“Then how come I feel-”

“ _Hush!”_ Ulaz shakes him by the shoulder, angrier than Keith has ever seen him. “It spiraled out of her control and ravaged the countryside – those who contracted it died before she could retain enough of their energy. Those who came into contact with the inert version became quintessence sensitive themselves.”

“The inert... you mean... the bodies?” Keith shakes his head in dawning horror, recalling all the twisted ravaged corpses he'd helped bury. “But... why the creatures? Why can I see-”

Ulaz tugs on his wrist again, dragging Keith toward the glittering cage on the far wall. “She takes the sensitive ones and... _twists_ them... that's what they do down there. That's why you can see them, they're like you.”

“No...” Keith staggers along behind him, hands clammy and nerveless around the blade even as sirens begin to blare outside. “It can't be... the servants-”

“Dead, well and truly.” Ulaz grunts, coming to a rest in front of the naga's cage. “Didn't have the sense not to follow the blue trail to the cistern. Sensitive enough to see the pretty pictures, not enough to see the monsters... fodder for the menagerie of horrors.” He fishes a smaller orb from his belt and smashes it against the glass – cursing when it shimmers but remains otherwise unharmed. “Keith, give me your blade.”

Keith balks, fingers tightening on the hilt. “Why?”

Ulaz whirls on him in a rage. “ _Give me your blade._ ” Keith scrambles to pass it over, wide-eyed as Ulaz snatches it, transforming it into a full sword in a burst of light. “Stand back.”

He swings the blade in a whistling arc, coming down hard against the glass barrier – and spreading a spiderweb of cracks through it. The next strike hits true as well, but the cracks only spiderweb outward in increments, flinging little shards around them, but no more.

“Naga!” Ulaz brings one fist to smash against the fragmenting glass, eyes burning as the serpent uncoils himself and drops from the branches to meet him. “The enchantment on your cage is broken and the witch is weakening, but she's still going to kill the boy here unless you help us stop her.”

Slitted yellowing eyes dart between Keith and the cistern where noxious purple smoke has begun to pour out.

“Kuro...” Keith tries, stepping forward to place a hand on the glass, “You don't have to help us, but either way, I want you to be free... you shouldn't have to live like this.”

The forked tongue flickers once before a muscled arm draws back and shatters through the glass as if it were no more than wet paper, and several hundred pounds of half-feral serpent come spilling out in a glimmer of opal scales and hissing fury, coiling himself loosely around Keith as he whips his head to the door, fangs bared.

The oaken doors explode inward in a shower of chips and blood as the steward comes careering through it – impaled on the end of a familiar blade with the considerable might of Kolivan behind it.

“You wretched bastard,” he snarls, twisting the blade deeper into the chest of the still-cackling steward. “You'll pay for what you did to Antok – every last one of you.”

The only response he gets is a burble of black blood, popping into noxious flecks that sizzle where they hit the floor, and then he's yanking his sword free and turning to face the room, ready for his next foe.

Only to stop with a pained groan. “You let the snake out _now_?”

“The boy won't leave without him,” Ulaz hisses back, like he hadn't made the initial move to free the naga. “And the snake is clearly bonded to him.”

“The snake is right here,” Kuro growls, guttural and thoroughly annoyed as he tightens his coils around Keith. “And it would like to be leaving this place if you two are done.”

“It's in _rut_.” Kolivan growls, ignoring Kuro entirely.

“It will be _fine_.” Ulaz snips back before turning to press the blade back into Keith's hands. “What's done is done, we must _go._ ”

For that they're all in agreement, racing through the crumbling halls with abandon as explosions rock the foundations of the manor.

“I see you managed your end then?” Ulaz puffs out at Kolivan as he swings around a corner. “I was worried the lab might have to be all we managed to take down with us.”

“Have a little faith,” Kolivan wheezes back, unused to such sustained sprinting. “If I say it'll get blown up, it'll get blown up.”

Kuro for his part, appears to be firmly ignoring their squabbling, eyes darting as he reads the rumbling vibrations from the splintering infrastructure below them. “We need to get lower,” he hisses out, scooping Keith into his arms as he slithers toward the nearest stairwell, eviscerating a wayward footman almost idly with a flash of his claws. “The structure is going to collapse.”

“Out to the stables then,” Kolivan grunts, thundering down the stairs behind him and gesturing down the hall. “We've got our reinforcements on the way.”

The path to freedom remains blessedly clear – thanks in part to the utter destruction of the Keepers in the cistern – and any stragglers meet their swift end at the point of claw or sword. For Keith, safely clutched in the arms of a giant naga, the entire thing is a bit of a blur until they breach the exterior door to the courtyard and he finds the ever-present fog lifting from his mind.

“Let me down, please-” he squirms in Kuro's hold until the naga gently sets him to rights on the cobblestone. When he twists around he can see the entire top of the manor awash in a golden blaze, crumbling spire by spire as the raw quintessence consumes it. “Ulaz, the others-”

“It's too late for them, Keith.” His master shakes his head and draws him back from the flames as the pounding of hooves on cobblestone draws near. “Kuro was the only one still himself anyway.”

“Shiro.” The naga mutters, claws clenching into fists as he glares into his crumbling prison. “My name was... _is_ Shiro.”

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, reaching out to glide a hand down shimmering pearly scales. “It suits you.”

“It used to be just my hair,” Shiro grumbles out, but tears his gaze from the ruins to the man in front of him. “But I suppose you're right.”

The clatter grows ever louder behind them, punctuated by the screams of terrified horses as they catch sight of the naga, scrabbling to bucking stop. Half a dozen figures in dark uniforms spill from the back of the covered wagon, jogging over with medical supplies and satchels full of glowing orbs that they being hurling into the untouched parts of the manor with abandon.

“Your reinforcements?” Keith guesses, tensing as one gives Shiro a sidelong look.

“Our ticket out of here,” Kolivan confirms, beckoning Shiro over to the back of the wagon. “Unless you planned to slither out of here and right through the town.”

“I hadn't gotten that far,” Shiro admits, doing his best to make himself nonthreatening to the horses as he hauls his coils inside. “I always figured I'd go down with the witch.”

Keith scoffs, scrambling into the back with him and settling himself down on a mass of coils – happy to pulled into the strong embrace of the naga behind him. “After your stunt last week? Unlikely.”

Ulaz shuts the flaps behind them with a groan and drags Kolivan to the driver's box. “Please, I don't need confirmation of the origins of that stain.”

Keith's apology is cheeky at best as he leans into the steady thumping of the heart behind his back.

“I hope your men brought extra horses, cause they're not going to want to join us.”

“They'll make it back to headquarters,” Kolivan sighs, pinching between his brows to stave off the growing headache. “I can't say the same for you two if you don't keep your hands to yourselves.”

Shiro's laughter rumbles through Keith's chest and into the open air as he folds his clawed hands carefully in Keith's lap.

And Keith thinks that maybe – even though the ghost stories turned out to be true, and he _did_ almost get murdered and have his life force sucked out by a crazed witch's evil lair...

Maybe Daibazaal Manor's oddities aren't that bad after all.


End file.
